Would you go back?
Can anything ever be as good as we remember?
For me, that quandary usually involves music, but includes meals, movies, and the SAT exam. It also covers dead pets, old cars and first wives.
And while I’m on record as having no interest in revisiting the past, I’ve been forced to reconsider my position…
I had a recent visit in the ‘Way Back Machine’ courtesy of Spotify, when the album ”The Big Heat” finally appeared; not sure why it wasn’t on the site earlier, I’m guessing Neil Young chained himself to the office doors, confusing Joe Rogan with a Redwood.
Before beginning, I must warn:
For my reader under the age of 30: I will be referencing old music technology you may have never heard of – there’s no need to be frightened; I have underlined the outdated technology for fair warning.
For everyone else, there may some ‘old man looks back and stares wistfully into space’ moments (shakes fist angrily, not sure why – perhaps a fly went by). And I’ve removed any “I remember when” rants.
But back to “The Big Heat”, an album released in the mid-80s, the first solo effort of Stan Ridgway, the Wall of Voodoo front man.
Things were different then – when an anticipated album was released, we’d buy the cassette, and listen to it in the car – or better yet, on our bitchin’ Walkman; for a really good release, we’d be glad to be stuck in traffic. After each song, we’d grade it in our head (+/-), the +/+/+ ones we’d listen to 3+ times in a row.
With vinyl, we’d wear the album out through repeated listening.
A lot of things were different then:
Musicians: Rock stars were either ODing on heroin or heading to rehab; today’s work at food banks in their spare time, or hold fundraisers to help old rock stars with bad livers.
Fashion mistakes: We can photo shop out our leisure suits and platform shoes, tattoos need be to pressure washed. (Stops to contemplate a 70 year old’s tramp stamp; Bad idea).
Politics: We feared our government. Well, maybe not different: They still want your voice.
But back to the “Big Heat”. (Minutes pass while typist stares wistfully into space).
Listened this morning – Best walk ever! It bought me back to the ‘80s, ‘The Golden Age of alternative music and FM Radio’: Album 88!!
We were young! We had hair!
Briefly, I loved the past. Better yet, my hip didn’t hurt.
No surprise, but My Captor is much better at accommodating the past.
She hosted 5 of her lifelong friends (50+ years) for a long weekend reunion, and they had a blast.
Of course, I heard about it later, having been ‘invited’ to leave for the weekend.
When I returned, they all giggled, made an awkward thumb reference – were they having fun at my expense? – triggering vivid high school flashbacks.
While “What happens in SSI, stays in SSI”, Girl reunions are (seemingly) more humane than Guy reunions:
Their nicknames can be repeated in polite company:
They are all about aerobic exercise: shopping and chatting;
Their cholesterol readings are a lot less elevated at the end.
Beyond the length of their continuing friendship – who keeps in touch with their grade and high school friends?-I am amazed at how they keep current. A brief organ recital, any new babies on the way; their conversations are in the moment.
They are great at dealing with the past by remaining in the present.
I guess the past is like my Granny’s house: OK place to visit, just don’t want to get trapped there.
For 128 more posts like this –each with a ’Way Back Machine’ – go to beersatthenifty.com. Your phone will display every post, and you can waste an hour or two.
Or, at the site, leave a comment on this post, and then check the box that says “Please notify me of future posts” and you will be sent the newest Sunday update automatically.
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Or just forward this to everyone you know. Forward it to those you aren’t fond of twice.
TO ENHANCE YOUR ENJOYMENT OF THIS POST, PAIR IT WITH THE FOLLOWING SONGS:
Mexican Radio Wall of Voodoo
I feel a hot wind on my shoulder
And the touch of a world that is older
Turn the switch and check the number
Leave it on when in bed I slumber
I hear the rhythms of the music
I buy the product and never use it
I hear the talking of the dj
Can’t understand just what does he say?
I’m on a mexican radio
I’m on a mexican radio
I dial it in and tune the station
They talk about the u.s. inflation
I understand just a little
No comprende–it’s a riddle
I’m on a mexican radio
I’m on a mexican radio
I wish I was in Tiajuana
Eating barbequed iguana
I’d take requests on the telephone
I’m on a wavelength far from home
I feel a hot wind on my shoulder
I dial it in from south of the border
I hear the talking of the dj
Can’t understand just what does he say?
Radio radio…
Pile Driver Stan Ridgway
There is a big click clack machine
Whose engines don’t pump gasoline
It’s a poundin’ crazy arm that works all day
It’s run by all the people who
Have got some blueprint plan to do
So don’t shake your head¨c¨cno, just nod and say “okay”
And before I knew it, I got shoved in line
Marchin’ south in single file, and countin’ off in time
bring that pile driver over here and be quick
We’ve got to dig a hole right now, so we can put in this stick
We’ve got a hundred fourty-seven done, we only got a day
So bring that pile driver over here right away
Now here’s a big wide open space
So wipe that smile right off your face
And replace it now with a look of stern regard
It’s the early bird that gets the worm
So what happens when the worm will learn
It’s the older ways for new we will discard
And someone sent us this big machine that guarantees
There’ll be no argument at all when we’re packin’ one of these
But wait a minute
Did you hear it cough
This crazy arm
We can’t turn off
It’s rollin’ round
And diggin’ down a mile
Look out¨c¨cthis big machine
Has gone hog wild!
So look out, world, we’re buildin’ now
When the hammer hits, the thumb says “ow!”
Somewhere you know there’s progress made
One thing’s for sure, we’ll get our asphalt laid
This big machine has run amuck
And someone somewhere passed the buck
So keep an ear out for that whistle call
And duck when you see that wreckin’ ball
And hey, bob, don’t light that match, we could explode
I’ll move some dirt while you block off the road
But wait a minute
Did you hear it cough
This crazy arm
We can’t turn off
It’s rollin’ round
And diggin’ down a mile
Look out¨c¨cthis big machine
Has gone hog wild!
Walking Home Alone Stan Ridgway
Now there’s last sunday’s paper
Crumpled up and rollin’ down the street away
And there’s a piece of gum
Just waitin’ for a ride on someone’s feet
Today
And tonight I’ll be walkin’ home alone
Now, there’s a million things I said
And twice as many that I didn’t say
Yay-ay
And I remember an afternoon
A broken coffee cup, and some Broadway tune
And I shook her hand
And I said okay
And now as I stroll by some skinny dog
Left outside without a bone
Tonight, I’ll be walkin’ home alone
And tonight I’ll be walkin’ home alone
And ain’t it funny how one afternoon
Can make two people stop and say
That all the time they spent together
Didn’t really mean that much anyway… no, not much
Just a sinkful of dirty dishes
And a picture in a drawer
And a hairbrush on the table
And a hole punched in a door
And if she were here right now
I’d tell her things I never told her before
So now I hear a clock and I get up fast
Draw the curtain on a brand new day
I can’t wait to get this cast off
The telephone’s dead––I guess they turned it off today
Turn the key on the mailbox slot
Lookin’ for a letter, but bills is all I’ve got
And even the cat she left me with
Is goin’ out with someone else
So put another quarter in the jukebox, Pete
But don’t play that one with the sad trombone
‘Cause tonight, I’ll be walkin’ home alone
And tonight, I’ll be walkin’ home alone
All alone
Walkin’ home
All alone
Old Photographs Mark Eitzel
Old photographs
Black and white convictions
I remember the way you were facing this restriction
Old pieces of paper
Memories to fight over
Self-interest and loss
There’s nothing to remember
We tried to look back
We never told your family
Nothing to keep back
We lived up to your memory
Sayonara, old Singapore
Dancing women in barrooms
Probably not around anymore
Tattoos of sinking ships
Silver, long bruised black
Some old photographs
Fixing history won’t get it back
Never told anyone
We never told the family
We tried to live up
To live up to your memory
I don’t believe in anything I ever said or did
The pain you kept buried
Life you kept hid
I live up to nothing
There’s nothing to live up to
Just a rage that’s buried
And a silence to live through
We never told anyone
We never told a soul
Never saw you get free
We lived up to your memory
We lived up to your memory
Yellow Coat Steve Goodman A song I hadn’t heard for years, and feared it could never be as good as I remembered. It was/is. A good day to (re)discover Steve Goodman, a Chicago folk legend.
It’s a long time since I saw you last
So tell me how you’ve been
Did you ever get to buy that yellow coat?
Do the flowers in you window box
Still smile when you walk in?
Did you read the letters that I wrote?
And I’ve been on the road since Christmas
But it don’t seem so long
Outside of that there isn’t much to say.
I cut down on my drinkin’ some
And wrote another song
I wish you wouldn’t look at me that way
Remember all the mornings
We’d walk around the park
The nights we babysat for Billy’s kids
And all the times we used to talk
Of having one ourselves
I don’t remember why we never did
Do the neighbors still complain a bit
When the music gets too loud?
Does your old cat still sleep up on the bed?
And do you still walk around
With your head up in the clouds?
Have you heard a single thing I’ve said?
It’s a two day drive to New York
Guess I’d better go
Have you noticed the weather’s gettin’ cold?
And it’s a long time since I saw you last
Tell me how you’ve been
Did you ever get to buy that yellow coat?
Did you ever get to buy that yellow coat?
The Big Heat Stan Ridgway
The room was dark, it looked like someone had to get out fast
A window open by the fire escape
How long have you been following this guy, the bellboy asked
Not long enough, ’cause we got here too late
And everybody wants another piece of the pie today, he said
You gotta watch the ones who always keep their hands clean
It’s the big heat, there’s someone followin’ you
It’s the big heat, step aside, we’re comin’ through
Well, we followed him from Tuscon, ended up in Baton Rouge
We trailed him with information by
A woman he knew in Barstow that would like to see him dead
That was four weeks ago––well, maybe five
And everybody wants another piece of the pie today, ” she said
You gotta watch the ones who always keep their hands clean.
A block away he wondered if he’d left behind a clue
The front page of the paper dated 19921
He remembered when he used to be the chairman of the board
But that was when the world was young and long before the war
And everybody wants another piece of the pie today, he said
You gotta watch the ones who keep their hands clean
A block away he wondered if he’d left behind a clue
The front page of the paper dated 19921
He remembered when he used to be the chairman of the board
But that was when the world was young and long before the war
And everybody wants another piece of the pie today, he said
You gotta watch the ones who keep their hands clean
A block away he wondered if he’d left behind a clue
The front page of the paper dated 19921
He remembered when he used to be the chairman of the board
But that was when the world was young and long before the war
And everybody wants another piece of the pie today, he said
You gotta watch the ones who keep their hands clean
Thx